


till the sun goes down

by HappyCamper27



Series: you'll come back [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Chara's p messed up, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fever, Gen, Gender-Neutral Chara, Gender-Neutral Frisk, but esp Frisk and Chara, but they're trying, dark themes, time & space shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5609203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyCamper27/pseuds/HappyCamper27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been trying, but it's failed, again and again and again. Maybe...it's time to try something new.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>(They can still feel the weight of their sins crawling on their back.)</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. touch my mouth, and hold my tongue

When they wake up, it is to the voices of their friends—no, not _their_ friends. They have no right to claim them as theirs. They sit up, hand rubbing at their head.

“You are awake, my child!” it’s Mom—Toriel. Not Mom, Toriel. They lost the right to that name long ago.

“Give us a warning before you take a nap, next time, you nerd!” Undyne says, grinning.

Others start talking, but they aren’t listening. They look around, searching for the only other person that matters. Their fists clench.

Where are they?

They scramble to their feet, feeling the blood starting to race through their veins.

“My child?”

They aren’t listening. They step back, and they think that the others must see some of what is racing through their mind on their face, because Sans steps forward.

“hey, kiddo, what’s wrong?”

Their mouth opens, and then they shake their head. The words aren’t coming.

Strange, since it’s always _them_ who has trouble with words.

They step back again, and they can feel the blood pulsing in their ears. Sans takes another step forward, and suddenly something in them snaps and they scramble back, and then the ground is pounding under their feet and they’re _running_.

This is all wrong, wrong, wrongwrongwrong _wrongwrongwrongwrong—_

They ignore the voices calling from behind them, chasing their feeble hope.

///

They race past monsters, ignoring the way that they turn their heads curiously.

Gradually, the ground under their feet changes from stone to crunching gravel and wood, to soft silt. They stumble, gasping for air. They can keep going, but their lungs are burning, and their throat is seizing around a lump that they can’t seem to swallow.

They bend over, gathering their strength.

“hey, kiddo.”

They nearly jump out of their skin, and they turn to see Sans standing there, a nervous lilt to his ever-present grin.

“mind explainin’ why you’re running all of a sudden?”

They shudder, and they can’t help but think of blue and pain and the redred _red_ of blood and the floury texture of dust on their hands.

“kid?”

They shake their head.

They run.

He doesn’t follow, this time.

///

The door to the Ruins is just ajar, and they wonder if Toriel left it open when she left—was she in a hurry, trying to get to them in time? Was she worried?

Who are they kidding, she wasn’t worried for them, no matter how much they want to think that. She was worried for _them_ , with their ever ready smile and gentle strength, the person that so few even had a vague memory of.

Even if she had only known them, this time.

They slip through, their sneaker clad feet quiet on the stone floors.

The Ruins haven’t changed, not really. The house is warmer, more lived in, but the Ruins are still the same—dusty, old, and cobwebbed.

They ignore the memories of wandering here, when they were younger, when they were _alive_ , to find adventure in the dark corners and simple puzzles.

Their feet take them past the curling, gnarled tree; past the red leaves, through the puzzles, down the long corridor—until, finally, they’re there.

The sweet smell of butterscotch fills their nose, and they push away the memories of pain and fury and sadness. It’s not time for that, there’s too much yet ahead.

They cling to the shadows, and they stare at him as he sits in the flowers, an almost lost look in his eyes.

“Why do we keep trying?” he asks, not even lifting his head.

The words resonate in their head, and they step forward, out of the shadows, their steps cushioned by the soft flowers.

“Because there’s someone we have to save.”

It’s a script for them, really, the words flowing off their tongue easily. They don’t know how many times they’ve said the same thing, and they wait for him to say the next line.

“Don’t we have anything better to do?”

They choke out a little laugh.

“Not really.”

He laughs, a little bitterly.

“They were _there,_ Chara,” he says quietly after a moment, furry hands clenching in his sweater. They look away. Asriel looks up at them, eyes painfully sad. “Where are they?” he asks. “I can’t feel them, not at all.”

They don’t say anything, because if Asriel can’t feel them even now, can’t feel the presence of the one they’ve been desperately reaching for—

They’ve failed again.

“Maybe they’re Above?” they ask, the words dry on their tongue. They don’t believe it, not really.

Asriel looks away.

“Why would they leave like that?” he asks, and they look away.

“We could try again,” they offer, and Asriel shudders. His big eyes are melancholy.

“I don’t want to, Chara.” He says, and they feel their breath catch in their chest. He breathes in deeply, continuing. “Maybe…maybe we _can’t_ save them.”

Betrayal stings like acid in their chest. They choke back the words that are on their tongue; cold, cruel words that they know will wound and hurt, because Asriel doesn’t remember everything, doesn’t really know how many times _they_ went back, over and over and over again, trying to figure out how to SAVE him. Asriel continues, quietly calling forth the red SOUL that had been given to him.

“Maybe…they aren’t coming back. No matter how much we try.”

They clench their teeth and wrench back the scream of frustration that wants to rip forth, and they curl their hands into fists and drive their nails into their skin, resisting the urge to _hurt something._

“Fine,” they hiss, and Asriel jerks.

“Wha—wait, Chara!”

But it’s too late—they’re walking away, movements sharp and jerky, because they can’t (won’t) hurt him, won’t lash out at him. But they’re still angry, and their anger has always been their weakness, their fatal flaw.

They almost reach out, tugging at the power that will bring them back to lying on those yellow flowers, no one remembering just how many times they’ve done this all over.

But they bite their lip savagely, the metallic tang of blood filling their mouth.

He doesn’t want to go back, try again? Fine. _Fine_.

They’ll just find another way.

///

It’s Papyrus who spots them first.

“HUMAN!” he cries, and they flinch at the sound. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

They look away, their steps slowing as Papyrus comes to a stop in front of them.

“WE WERE VERY WORRIED!”

They bite their tongue, letting the pain wash over them. They know that Asriel is following them, that he’ll catch up sooner or later; he always does.

They reach out and tug at Papyrus’s scarf, and they think that maybe he can see some of what they’re feeling on their face, because he laughs and scoops them up, placing them on his shoulders.

“NYEH HEH HEH! COME! THE GREAT PAPYRUS SHALL ESCORT YOU TO THE OTHERS!”

They can’t help the tiny smile that curls their lips. No matter how much they had disliked him at the beginning, the fiercely kind skeleton had grown on them, even if they hate to admit it.

For a moment, they think what _they_ would say if they knew.

_I’m happy for you!_

They swallow drily, closing their eyes.

They’ll SAVE them.

They will.

///

Asriel waits until they have watched the sunset to make his move. His voice is soft and quiet, echoing out from the space where the barrier had been.

“Mom? Dad?”

Toriel’s breath catches as she turns, seeing the near ghostly figure standing there. Asgore stands there, frozen, as she steps forward, one hand placed tremblingly over her mouth.

“Asriel…?” she asks, her voice shaking.

“Mom! Dad!” he laughs, dashing forward.

They turn away from the scene, feeling something almost like guilt clawing at their throat. They’ve never waited long enough for Asriel to be able to walk free of that room, never waited long enough for him to be able to see their— _his_ mom and dad again.

Sans is sitting beside them, and when they meet his eyes, they think that maybe they can see a hint of fear and hate.

They don’t mind, though. They deserve it, after all they’ve done.

It doesn’t matter that it technically didn’t happen, because it _did_.

When Toriel asks them, with hope in her eyes, if they’d like to come with her, stay with her, they meet Asriel’s hopeful eyes.

He knows what they’re going to say before they even open their mouth, and he flinches and reaches out for them, but it’s too late.

“I’m sorry,” they say quietly. “My…family’s waiting for me.”

The words are bitter in their mouth, because Toriel and Asgore and Asriel are the only family they’ve ever known, and to speak of them as though they’re not is the bitterest betrayal they’ve ever known.

Toriel flinches, just a bit, and smiles tremulously. “I understand, my child,” she says, and they want to reach out and tell her that everything will be alright, that they _do_ want to go with her, so, so, _so_ badly.

But they don’t, and they turn to the other monsters.

Undyne smacks their shoulder, grinning. “Stay in touch, ya hear?!” she yells, and they nod.

“Of course.”

Papyrus is next.

“HUMAN! I HOPE YOU WILL NOT FORGET ME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS!! AFTER ALL, WE ARE BEST FRIENDS, ARE WE NOT?”

“Hey!” Undyne breaks in before they can say anything. “ _I’m_ their best friend!” Alphys steps forward before the argument can continue any further.

“G-Goodbye,” she murmurs, and they nod.

“Bye,” the _I’ll miss you_ that is on their tongue is left unsaid.

Finally, the only one left is Sans.

“welp. be good, kiddo,” he says, and they nod. “see ya, wouldn’t want tibia.”

They laugh, and Papyrus rolls his eyes, huffing.

“SANS!”

“what, bro? that was pretty humerus, if I do say so myself.”

“SAAAANS!” Papyrus whined, glowering.

“am I not tickling your funny bone?”

“SAAAAAAANS!!”

They can’t help but laugh at the by play, even though they know they have to leave soon, before Asriel works up the courage to step forward and try to convince them otherwise.

They look at them one last time, their eyes meeting Asriel’s. He shakes his head, but they steel themself, clenching their teeth.

They turn away, and for a brief moment, they can’t bring themself to step away, to turn their back on everything good that had ever happened to them.

They walk away.


	2. the pull on my flesh was just too strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They shiver and keen, the fever whisking them away into dark dreams of dust and pain and darkness.

They grit their teeth, ignoring the buzz of their phone in their pocket. It’s cold, and they’ve been waiting for a bus for a while now, and they don’t know how much longer it’s going to take.

They bite back the shiver that tries to roll down their spine like oil, slick and slimy.

They ignore the chill of raindrops soaking into their shaggy mop of hair, stuffing their hands into their armpits and glaring at the shiny blacktop of the road.

Stupid bus. Where was it?

They stamp their feet, trying to chase away the numbness that’s creeping from their feet and into their legs. They pace a little bit, looking around irritably.

There’s a tree by the post that is the bus stop, and they eye it for a moment.

They sit down, their back rubbing against the rough bark through the threadbare sweater they’re wearing.

They grit their teeth, ignoring the buzz of their phone.

The bus will be here soon, they’re sure.

///

They stare out at the fading light from over the treetops.

The cold is even worse now, the chill having seeped into every little nook and cranny, and they’re shivering uncontrollably and they _hate it_.

Their phone stopped buzzing a while ago, but they’re not really that worried. The rest are…better off without them.

 _Asriel_ is better off without them.

They clench their numb fingers into fists, glowering at the ground. They’re still angry, of course, but not at Asriel. Never at Asriel.

They’re angry at the universe, and themself; the universe for stealing Frisk away, for taking away the person who brought them and Asriel back together, and themself for…well, they didn’t need to say anything about that.

The last of the light fades away, and they clench their teeth. They’ll make it through the night, somehow. And if the bus doesn’t come in the morning…well, they still know how to get to their old village, as many bad memories as that holds.

For a moment, they wonder if those yellow flowers are still there, growing in the fields where they and—and—

—and who?

They bite their lip savagely.

They don’t remember.

(they don’t want to.)

///

It’s cold, and they’re shivering and they _hate it_.

They know they have to stay awake, but it’s cold and their eyelids are drooping and they’re so very _tired_ —

Their eyes close, their head nodding forward.

Maybe a little nap wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

///

Their dreams are a muddled, crazed mess, and they wake up slowly, rising out of the sticky, syrupy ooze of sleep.

The sun is shining on the blacktop, and they sigh, rubbing at their eyes with clumsy fingers. Their phone buzzes in their pocket, and they fumble with it, checking it.

They wince at the number of missed calls and texts, shoving it back into their pocket.

They stumble their way to their feet, and sniffle, rubbing at their nose. They’re damp and cold still, the sun not yet having reached them.

They step out into the sun and sigh, letting the warmth seep into their tired, sore muscles. They have a long walk ahead of them today, and they’re glad that sun is following the previous rainy day.

Their feet aren’t as sore as they’d have thought after a nightlong walk, but they still hurt. They sneeze, and set off down the road, stepping along a path that they still know by heart.

They ignore the bad memories nipping at their ankles.

///

It’s a beautiful day outside. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming. On days like these, kids like them…

… _ ~~S H O U L D B E B U R N I N G I N H E L L .~~_

///

The village that they had grown up in is right on the edges of the hills that lead up to Mt. Ebott, and the other mountains in the range.

They stare at the ruins of the village, decrepit and rotted away. It’s a haunting sight; a place that has haunted them for years is rotting away, abandoned.

The scent of butterscotch fills their nose, and they tremble, just a bit. The yellow flowers surround the village, the sea of yellow stretching for a far longer way than they remember.

They stumble forward and onward. Their feet hurt, and their head hurts, and they’re tired. They sniffle, rubbing at their nose.

Bad memories circle them like vengeful ghosts.

///

In the end, they sit down in the middle of the flowers, tired and hurting and just wanting to sleep.

But it’s okay, because they don’t really _want_ to go much closer to the abandoned village; maybe it’s just the rotting wood, but the place seems much more menacing now.

On the other hand, the bad memories are at their neck, teeth sinking the fangs ever deeper into their soft, vulnerable skin, drawing forth the ruby red of fresh blood.

They don’t have the strength to fight back.

///

It’s in the midst of a fevered haze that they see _him_. Black and white and gray, stark against the feverish mix of red-blue-orange-green-red-purple-yellow. _He_ smells different too, like dry, crackly paper and tangy metal, and it clashes against the sweet-spicy smells of cinnamon and butterscotch.

They roll over, and the colors fade. Red splashes, spattering like freshly split blood, and they twist, a high-pitched whine escaping their throat.

A cool hand presses against their forehead.

_~~Your friend is well, dark one.~~ _

_~~Be not afraid.~~ _

_~~All will become clear in time.~~ _

They stare at _him_ uncomprehendingly, not really seeing him or anything.

Everything’s just a haze of heat and pain and hate and things they would rather just forget.

The taste of blood fills their mouth, and they cough, and they think of red and blue and white, and those painful, painful words that they’ve heard far _too many times_ —

_welp. i’m going to grillby’s._

_…hey, papyrus, you want anything?_

—in the end, they don’t deserve this ending, and they never have.

They shiver and keen, the fever whisking them away into dark dreams of dust and pain and darkness.

_(they can feel their sins c r a w l i n g o n t h e i r b a c k .)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention this last chapter, but the story title and chapter title(s) all come from Mumford & Sons' _Broken Crown_. It's a good song; go listen to it! But be warned, it does contain crass language.  
>  As a last thing, the twin to this fic-- _Blue_ \--which is from Frisk's POV, will be updated next.  
> Thank you all so much for reading!


	3. i'll be home, safe and tucked away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ll find you, don’t worry,” they whisper. “I’ll save you.”
> 
> They close their eyes, listening to the rain, steady and rhythmic.
> 
> “Just like you saved me.”

They’re not sure how long they spend trapped in those fever dreams, reliving memories of things that they regret, memories that they’d rather forget. But they don’t deserve to forget, and they know that, so they don’t fight it; they deserve to know every single horrible thing that they’ve done, they deserve to bear the agony of remembering.

When they do wake up, tired and weak and trembling, it is to Asriel, watching them from a chair beside the bed.

They jerk, feeling the soft padding of the bed, and they try and sit up, only to have Asriel push them back down. They scoff at themself, wondering just how far gone they are that _Asriel_ , their weaker, crybaby brother, can push them down so easily.

“You’re awake,” Asriel breathes out, finally, and they almost panic when they hear the threatening tears in his voice. “You’re finally awake.”

“Don’t cry,” they rasp as his eyes begin to fill with tears. “You’re such a crybaby.”

Asriel laughs, a little wetly. “Yeah, I know. And big kids don’t cry, right?” he sniffles a bit, choking back the tears. When he looks back at them, his eyes are dry, and a sad, taut, little smile is pulling at his lips, showing just a hint of his fangs.

“You’re really predictable, you know?” he says, and they try and force a scowl, but he just laughs a little. “I knew you had nowhere to go—Frisk never talked about them, but we both knew it.”

They look away, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. Their hands clench, and they know that Asriel can see the dangerous, angry path their thoughts are taking. He starts talking again, and they think they can hear a twinge of bitterness in his tone.

“You never had anywhere to go, up here, so I couldn’t understand why you didn’t come with us. But I knew, kind of. You’re so stubborn, and you can’t accept help to save your life.” They wince, and Asriel’s smile saddens for a moment. They both know just how hard those words hit. “But you’ve always known that village, no matter how much they hated you, and I thought you would go there. Turns out you did.”

He laughs. “Sans found you, actually. I had begged him to take me there, and he did, but he found you first. You were delirious, wailing and keening, and all feverish—” he shudders. “I wasn’t sure you were going to wake up at all.”

They snort, and reach out to shove at him. They barely manage to poke him, they’re so feeble, and they scowl at their hand.

“Even if I didn’t, I could have reset, you idiot.”

“But I didn’t want you to have to!” Asriel exclaims, sitting forward. “Just because I have a soul now doesn’t mean that I remember everything right away, and you know that! I didn’t want to wake up being Flowey again, and be so cruel to you again, and then have to go through everything all over again!” he takes a shuddering breath. “I didn’t want that, and I don’t think you do either.”

And maybe they are still predictable, or maybe he just knows them too well, because he’s right. They don’t want to wake up in that bed of yellow flowers again, knowing that they’re reliving the same week-or-so over and over and over again. They want to find and SAVE Frisk, but it’s taken its toll on them, too.

They clench their hands, feeling the pinch of their nails biting into their skin harshly. Asriel notices and puts his hand on theirs.

“Please, don’t,” he says, and they scowl at him. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

And they bite back the anger that’s rising in their throat, threatening to spill out vitriol and hate at him, because they’re not angry at him, not really. They relax their hands, and he smiles.

Then their stomach growls, loud and angrily, demanding food.

Asriel bursts into laughter, and they can’t help laughing along.

“I’ll go ask Mom to make some soup,” he says, and they desperately want to lick their lips, because Mo—Toriel’s soup is incredible and they’ve missed it. “And if Dad’s here, I’ll ask him to bring you some tea.”

Asriel pauses, clearly remembering something as they wince at the mention of tea.

“On second thought…maybe not,” he says sheepishly, and they snort. Neither of them really want to drink tea made from _those_ flowers.

He comes back a little while later, Toriel in tow, and he just stands by the door as she fusses and feeds them soup when their own hands turn out to be too weak to lift the spoon to their mouth without dropping it.

“I am so glad you are all right, my child,” she says again, eyes warm. “We were all so worried.”

They look away, not sure how to respond. They know that Toriel doesn’t really mean that—not towards them. Those words are meant for Frisk, and they know it. Toriel sighs when they reach the bottom of the bowl, and smiles at them.

“You must be tired, little one,” she says gently. “We will leave you to sleep so that you can get better.”

She leaves, and Asriel hovers at the door for a moment before she calls him away to help clean the dishes. He smiles sheepishly.

“…feel better, okay?” he says, darting away. They lay back on their fluffy pillows, shutting their eyes. They don’t want to sleep, because they know what’s waiting for them in those haunted fever dreams—memories.

Dark, dusty memories of times they’ve left behind.

Their hand twitches, and for a split second they can feel the handle of a knife gripped between their fingers, old and covered with dust.

They shudder, and shove those nasty, violent memories and thoughts away.

It looks like they’re not going to get much sleep tonight. Or at all, really.

///

They’re expecting Asgore, the next day, playing the part of the worried father once more. It’s not, though. It’s not Undyne, or Papyrus, or Alphys.

It’s Sans.

The short skeleton watches them with sharp, gleaming eyes as the rain patters against the windowpane.

“hey.”

They look up at him, and his grin tenses just a bit. They know they look like hell, the bags under their eyes dark and their hair mussed. They’re exhausted.

“you, uh, look like hell.”

They snort.

“I know.”

Sans’ grin twitches, and he sits down. They look at each other for a moment, and he chuckles a bit when they look away first.

“so this is it, huh? finally done?”

They sigh. They know, they _know_ that Sans knows. They’ve known for a long time. His face tightens sharply when they do, and they know they’ve been caught about knowing that he knows—they can’t help but laugh. They’re thinking themself in circles.

“what’s funny, pal?”

They shake their head. “I just never thought I’d—we’d—be here, like this.”

“oh?”

“It’s ridiculous,” they say, laughing. “You hate me, and here we are, talking like you’re not about to kill me if I say the wrong thing!”

Sans stiffens. “kill ya? why would i do that?”

They turn a dark, knowing look onto him. “Don’t lie to me, Sans. I know a lot more than you, believe me.”

“…okay.” Sans says after a moment, his grin falling away. “i guess so. but…you forgot one thing. tori’s still here, and if i killed ya, _she_ ’d kill _me_ , kiddo. so i’ll have to take a raincheck on that.”

They glance out the window at the rain, and they look back at him, thoroughly unimpressed.

“tough crowd, huh?” Sans chuckles, standing up. “welp. i’m glad you’re alright, kiddo. paps would be pretty sad if you died now.”

They both clearly hear the words that are left unspoken. _I won’t hesitate to kill you, though._

Maybe it’s just them, though. Asriel has always told them that they’re a pessimist, but they prefer the term realist. They don’t disbelieve it, though. Sans has killed them more than enough times in the past—even though they’re more than capable of killing him, even now.

He turns away, before pausing for a moment.

“ya know, i never did get your name, kiddo.” Expectant eyes stare at them, and they laugh, maybe a bit bitterly. Frisk never had to do this. But then again, they’re not Frisk, are they?

“Chara.” The word tastes like honeyed poison on their tongue. “I’m Chara.”

“chara, huh?” Sans grins at them. “nice to meet ya.”

It’s really not. But they’re not going to say anything.

They lean back and close their eyes, and the ever so slight sound of Sans flickering away has them smiling bitterly.

They open their eyes after a moment, staring up at the ceiling. They’re stronger now, and hopefully soon they’ll be able to search out more ways to save Frisk—from wherever they are.

They laugh.

“Where are you, Frisk?” they ask, the words quiet in the empty room. There’s no reply. Of course. For a moment, they let themself think of blue and bones and timelines that they hate and want to forget. And they know. This is their penance.

“I’ll find you, don’t worry,” they whisper. “I’ll save you.”

They close their eyes, listening to the rain, steady and rhythmic.

“Just like you saved me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was both easy and hard to write. God, Sans and Chara are hard to keep in character! (and I'm not sure I fully managed that...) And of course, Asriel just wanted to keep talking and talking...  
> *sighs*  
> But thank you all for reading and enjoying!  
> ...though more comments would be appreciated? Ehehe...  
> EDIT:  
> Me and a friend opened up a [blog](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/the-box-is-a-myth)! Please come take a look. It's a place where all head cannons are accepted--even the unpopular ones. We come up with new ones too.  
> 


	4. I will not speak of your sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hairs on the back of their neck prickle, and they shiver.
> 
> They don’t like feeling so uneasy, especially when they can’t even remember what caused it.

They wake up in the middle of the night, sweating; their heart’s pounding, and they’re shaking. They sit up, struggling to control their breathing before the sounds that are choking in their throat escape.

“What…was that?” they wonder finally, staring down at their hands in the dark, still sweating and shaking. They’ve _never_ woken up like that, not even when they were in their own body—old habits die hard, they know all too well.

So anything that could have caused this, caused them to wake so suddenly with a choked scream in their throat…it’s undoubtedly bad. The hairs on the back of their neck prickle, and they shiver.

They don’t like feeling so uneasy, especially when they can’t even remember what caused it.

Throwing off the heavy, warm covers, they stand. Or…they try to. Their knees almost buckle under them, and they catch themself on the bed just in time. They hiss in irritation as they force their legs to straighten despite the pervasive weakness that makes their knees shake.

Stupid fever. Stupid bedrest. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

With careful, slow steps, they make their way downstairs to the kitchen. They hold their breath when a step creaks under their feet, only moving on when there’s no sound of anything from the other rooms.

The light from the kitchen blinds them for a moment, and they’re left blinking away stars as they search for a glass. They have milk, true, but no microwave—so warm milk is out of the question. It makes their chest ache as memories flicker in their mind, thinking of the first time they woke from a nightmare after falling into the mountain.

They laugh roughly, quietly. Their dumb little crybaby brother had panicked upon seeing them in the middle of a nightmare and had rushed to go get Mo—Toriel. It wasn’t necessary, they were more than used to nightmares making them wake with sweaty hands and shaking fingers, but Toriel had insisted on warm milk anyway.

They pour themself water, instead, shutting away memories of warm milk and gentle voices and a family that’s lost to them now through their own _damned_ actions.

///

In the morning, they pretend that they hadn’t been up since before dawn, despite the bags that must be under their eyes. They weren’t really sure if they were there—they hadn’t looked in a mirror since…well, since New Home.

All the same, the house is busy with people, everyone getting ready for the day and demanding breakfast.

Apparently, the Monsters were granted a large house and tents on the edge of the city near Mt. Ebott while things were ironed out with the local government. Naturally, Papyrus, Sans, Undyne, and Alphys were staying with them. Of course they were.

It certainly explained why the house was allowed to be as big as it was—six bedrooms plus three bathrooms in a two-story house was far bigger than they had thought the Monsters would get

In any case, they had been bluntly told in no uncertain terms that they were to _rest_ and to stay seated while everyone else helped with breakfast. The fact that it was likely both because of Toriel’s maternal instinct as much as the fact that they were _technically_ still recovering did nothing to ease the sting that itched against their skin.

“Human!” Papyrus greeted them jovially, sitting down across from them. “I am glad to see you doing better! How are you feeling?”

They can’t help the smile that twitches their lips—Papyrus’ good cheer is infectious, now. (They very carefully ignore the memories of a time where it _wasn’t_ and just made them _angrier—)_

“Better,” they say, shoving those memories into a little locked box in the back of their mind. Papyrus grins.

“Wonderful!” he says, before nodding to where Toriel is cooking breakfast. “Her Majesty insisted that you weren’t to be visited until you were feeling better! I’m sure that my amazing spaghetti helped you as well!”

“Of course,” they say, and the lie slips off their tongue like honey. They refuse to feel guilty for it though—telling Papyrus that his cooking sucks would be like kicking a puppy. More than that, it would probably set Sans on them, and…well. They really don’t need that right now.

A huge hand touches their shoulder, and they almost instantly recognize the cautious gentleness of it. They turn to see Asgore standing there, his face gently worried.

“I am glad to see you awake,” he says, and _something_ aches in their chest. They force a smile, glad for their— _months? Years? Days?_ —spent acting.

“Thanks,” they say, unsure behind their phony smile. Apparently it’s enough, because Asgore simply smiles in return, sitting down at the table.

“Hey, kid!” Undyne says brightly, bringing a plate of pancakes to the table and almost slamming them down. “I knew you wouldn’t be down for long!” she sits down, and they can’t help but tense at the questions that they know must be coming.

Thankfully, at that moment Toriel brings the last of the food and sits, smiling. The rest seem to take that as a signal to hush and begin eating—or, hush as much as they can.

Asriel quietly sits down beside them, carrying two glasses of milk. He passes one to them, smiling. They take it wordlessly, enjoying tasting Toriel’s cooking once again. They know he’s the same, and for just a moment, that old hate wells up in their chest.

It shouldn’t have been like this; if only they hadn’t let their stupid, damned anger get the better of them, then Asriel would _never_ have gotten killed. He would have lived, the hope of the Underground, becoming King. He would have grown up, never losing his SOUL or becoming that _damn Flowey_.

They deserved everything they got, but Asriel…no. Not ever. Not him.

Asriel nudges them, and they realize that their fork is biting into their fingers. Slowly, they loosen their grip, trying to ignore the aching pain of it. It doesn’t compare, at all.

And yet…and yet.

Toriel clears her throat, and they both look up. She smiles, and looks at them. “My child,” she begins slowly, carefully, “I am glad to see you are doing better.” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “However, I am curious. Why did you not choose to say with us if you had nowhere to go?”

The breath sticks in their throat, and they swallow, but she isn’t finished. “And, how do you and Asriel know each other? Forgive me, but I am dreadfully curious.”

And that’s her sweetly gentle negotiating voice. It sends shivers down their spine, because they know it’s really not a question—it’s a demand, coated in velvet and honey. They know she cares, but…there are just too many questions, aren’t there? Too many unknowns.

Beside them, Asriel swallows, and they trade glances. How much can they say? How much will be believed?

They nudge him, breathing in deep. They’ll tell the story, because at least if Toriel gets angry, if Sans gets angry, they can bear it. Asriel…he’s still getting used to emotions, to being attached to people who won’t just reset in a few days.

They open their mouth, and begin to weave the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This was really, really hard to write. Chara is really frikking hard to keep in character...  
> ALSO. YOU GUYS.  
> I did not expect this series to be as popular as it is??? like, it has more views than i ever expected, plus all the comments, likes, and bookmarks. You guys are freaking awesome, okay?  
> And finally: the first chapter of a three-part prequel to _better days are near ___is now up! It's called _follow the light_.


	5. stifled the choice and the air in my lungs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a boldfaced lie, and they both know it.

They don’t say the whole truth. They—they _can’t_. They don’t lie, per se, but they certainly…leave out pieces. Asriel’s hand tightens around theirs, having grasped their hand not long after they had gotten to the first bit—meeting _Flowey_.

Toriel’s stiff, eyes both wide and shocked, but there’s sadness there too, and they can’t quite tell who for. Probably Asriel.

“So that’s it,” they finish, shrugging. “We fought, I won, SAVED your SOULs, and he broke the barrier. When I got back to where I fell, he was there. I convinced him to come with.” They swallow, biting back the urge to tumble out of the chair and run away. Breakfast’s cold in front of them, and they’re not really hungry anymore anyway. So they stand up, hopping out of the chair. “I’m…not hungry anymore,” they say in lieu of an excuse, and start walking away. Asriel sits there for a moment, eyes darting around the table at the stunned faces of their maybe-once-family, before he gets up and follows them.

He finds them sitting at the edge of the forest, past the tents. They’re leaning against a tree, curled up and hugging their knees, nearly swimming in their striped sweater. They glance up at him, red eyes dull. 

“You didn’t tell them the whole story,” he says, sitting beside them. They laugh bitterly.

“No, I didn’t. Do you really think they could handle it?” their smile is a mockery. “Knowing that their darling savior is just an imposter? A demon in another’s body, a dirty killer who’s LOVE is so high that they’re drowning in dust?” they snort, burying their face in their knees. “No. I’m just—I’m just a placeholder. Once Frisk is back, I’ll be out of the way, and they won’t have to worry about the ‘full story’.”

It’s a boldfaced lie, and they both know it.

He sighs, shifting over just enough that his shoulder brushes theirs, because he still knows them well enough to know that touch right now would feel like torture, not comfort. “You’re not a demon, you know,” he says, staring out at the sea of tents. “Or an imposter. They don’t—they don’t _remember_ Frisk. They’ve only known you, this time.”

“Like that even _helps_ ,” they spit, knuckles turning white as they clench their hands into tight fists. 

“Doesn’t it?” he asks, and they still. “I mean, you could say that I’m an imposter too, with your logic.” They growl. “They’ve only known Flowey, this entire time—aside from Mom and Dad—and they’ve never even met _Asriel_. Mom probably doesn’t want to believe that I would do those things, either. So…” he trails off, takes a breath. “If you’re an imposter, then I definitely am.”

“…I hate it when you make sense,” they mutter finally. “I know I’m right, but then you go and say things like that, you crybaby.”

He laughs. “I know you,” he says simply, “and you have this…this weird idea in your head that you don’t deserve things, which is dumb.” They stiffen, but he plunges on before they can say anything more, because he’s their _brother_ , and it’s his job to make sure that they _stop hurting themself like this. “_ But you do. You deserve to be loved, like everyone else, and you deserve a home, and a family, and everything else I don’t think you’ve ever had, because you’re _good_. You’re not evil, Chara, and you’re not a demon.” Their hands are shaking now. “And—and if I have to keep saying this every day until forever, then I will, because you’re _my sibling_ , and it’s my job to make sure you’re okay and loved and—and—”

Their hand snaps out and catches his, squeezing hard. “You’re such an idiot,” they mutter, cutting him off. “Stop saying stupid things.”

He laughs, and a tension he didn’t even realize was in his belly released, just a bit. “Never.” 

And—it’s still not okay. But maybe it can be. Eventually.

///

It’s a few days later that they sit down beside Alphys, ignoring Sans’ sharp gaze. 

“Alphys,” they say, catching her attention. “I have a question.” 

The doctor blinks. “Y-yes? What i-is it?”

“What happened to the SOULs used to open the barrier?” it’s a very deliberate question. Alphys flinches, eyes wide.

“W-why?”

Their eyes darken, just a bit, and they bite their tongue. “Just—curious.” Alphys shifts uncomfortably, blinking rapidly.

“U-um, well, they—they vanish. M-magic, especially SOUL magic l-like that, has a—has a p-price.”

“and the more powerful the magic, the greater the cost.” Sans jumps in, watching them carefully. “use powerful enough magic and…poof,” he waves his hand lazily, miming a puff of smoke, “SOUL gone, like it never existed.”

The words make a chill run down their back.

“Gone? As in, never coming back?” 

Alphys looks worried now. “Y-yes. Ch-chara—why are y-you asking about th-this?”

They swallow. Lift their chin. Look her in the eyes. “I’m just curious,” they lie, the words like poisoned honey on their breath. It’s easy.

Alphys hesitates, but nods. “I-if you say so,” she says, glancing away.

They nod, and stand up, walking away. They need to—process this. 

…How are they going to fix this? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems that Asriel is turning into Chara's therapist. >_>  
> Azzy, no.  
> Also, for those interested in the novel I'm working on: I've opened up a blog devoted to my writing on tumblr! You can find it as @iwillwritethisbook.


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